All For One
by LovinJackson
Summary: Missing Scene to "Musketeers Don't Die Easily". When things don't go as planned, Athos is glad to have his friends by his side.


**A/N:** Hi guys. This was a short little one shot written for my best friend Lisa "Angelustatt" who is a massive Athos girl.

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 **All For One.**

How had he allowed this to happen? Athos leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as images of the night swirled around in his head. It was on repeat, over and over again. d'Artagnan's confused face haunted Athos' mind. The image of him as he fell backwards, blood spilling from the wound in his side – a wound that _he_ had caused.

How had he let this happen? He growled, the sound coming from deep in his throat. His fingers clenched in his messed hair. His heart raced with fear and uncertainty. What if the wound was serious? What if d'Artagnan didn't wake up? What had he done?

Another growl left his throat, angry and ragged. He stood up, the world spinning around him in a nauseating fashion. Three bottles of wine and he didn't feel like he was done yet. He wanted to drown himself in the intoxicating liquid. Maybe it could erase the memory of d'Artagnan dying at his hand. Because that is what he saw. His own damaged mind created the rest of the story for him. His efforts at destroying the Cardinal and his wife had cost him one of his closest friends, a young man he cared very much for. Even now after d'Artagnan had received his commission from the king Athos felt responsible for the boy. He'd once told Treville that the young Gascon had the makings of a great Musketeer, perhaps the best of them all. But that didn't stop him feeling protective of him.

Athos turned towards the table. Somehow he'd made it back to the garrison. He could feel eyes watching him, other musketeers had heard the news. It wasn't like he'd made his attack on his wife a secret. It was an act and it was imperative that it was real for everyone. But Athos wanted to tell them all where to go with their judgement. He ignored them. Not willing to see the judgement he expected for what had happened.

Instead he would pour himself another wine. He couldn't possibly mess up any more than he had that night.

Liquid sloshed into the glass on the table. It was thick and red and just reminded him of d'Artagnan's blood. He swallowed thickly as he stared at the liquid for a long moment. He swayed on the spot, the world around him dizzying. Athos closed his eyes and sighed, slumping down sideways on the bench seat and clumsily reached for the glass.

A large hand intercepted his and Athos snapped his eyes open and looked up at the interruption. Porthos.

"I think you've 'ad enough for tonight."

Athos glared at the big man in front of him. "On the … contrary," Athos articulated slowly to avoid slurring his words. "I don't believe I have had enough."

"Athos," Porthos warned and moved the glass out of the way.

"You're not my minder, Porthos," Athos argued, frustration seeping from his voice. He pushed himself to his feet and reached for the bottle instead of the glass. He could play this game in his sleep.

He took a swig from the bottle, emptying the contents as he stepped away from the courtyard table and Porthos. A single drop of wine escaped down his chin. Athos raised a clumsy hand to wipe the alcohol from his beard, his other hand fell lazily to his side with the neck of the bottle still in his grasp. He stood there, staring at the archway entry to the Musketeer Garrison. His balance wavered and it took all his concentration not to stumble even while standing still in the one spot.

"Athos," Porthos called, his voice close behind him. His tone was worried and quiet. They couldn't let anyone know what happened, what really happened. Athos was supposed to be angry at d'Artagnan, not worried. For the act to succeed they needed to be thorough. But he couldn't get the image out of his head. What if d'Artagnan was another casualty at his hand?

He shook his head and stumbled towards the opening. He had to know if the boy was alright. He had to know more than anything right now. His gait was sluggish and unsteady and the hand that clasped on his shoulder almost caused him to fall. But Porthos was there, steadying him. Porthos was steady and strong and not what he wanted right now. He needed to see d'Artagnan for himself.

Athos pulled away from Porthos and stumbled into the stone wall of the archway. "Leave me be, Porthos." He grumbled, his brow pinched into a frown as he tried to steady himself once more. The wall was steady but everything else seemed to be moving at a startling speed. "I … I need to go."

"Athos, come back inside," Porthos hissed.

Athos whirled around, dark rage filling his heart. "No!" Raising the hand holding the empty of bottle of wine, Athos pitched it at the wall behind Porthos. Liquid filled his sore and itchy eyes and he rubbed at them irritably, preventing any tears from actually falling. He was Athos of the Kings Musketeers and he wasn't crying in the middle of the Garrison in front of one of his brothers. "I've killed him!" Athos growled. "That was me! I did that, Porthos!"

Porthos was looking at him with large brown eyes, emotions swirling to the surface and Athos couldn't take it. He didn't want sympathy. Not now. He'd had one job and now d'Artagnan might not walk back through these gates. One job, damn it. He turned, intent on continuing on his journey. Before he could take another step, Athos found himself pushed up against the wall, his head hitting cold stone and making his already dizzy mind see stars.

"Stop this!" Porthos growled low and dangerously as he held Athos against the wall. "Stop it! This was the plan!" he hissed. He glanced to the side and then back at Athos.

"The plan?" Athos laughed. "This was the plan?"

Porthos growled again but this time moved back, pulling Athos with him. "We're not havin' this conversation here!"

Athos found himself dragged towards his room, Porthos' arm falling around his shoulders as if he was simply helping his drunk friend back to his room for the night. If Athos was right he was pretty sure that Porthos had done this many times for him in the past. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Only this night wasn't like most nights, not for Athos.

Once inside Athos' quarters, Porthos slammed the door and pushed Athos down onto his bed, spent bottles that had littered the floor beside his bed rolled away underneath. Porthos stood there for a moment, just looking down at him. Athos sighed, his head thumping with the beginnings of an awesome headache had taken his fire away. Now he just felt spent.

"I'm worried about the boy too, Athos. But we need to hold it together."

Athos shook his head, leaning forward again, leaning his aching head on a hand. "What have I done, Porthos?"

"You did your job. d'Artagnan will be alright. Aramis wouldn't leave 'im to die in the street alone with 'er."

"It was supposed to be a shot to the arm. I … damn it!" Athos shouted, standing up, swaying dangerously. Porthos caught him and lightly pushed him back down to the bed. "Damn it!"

Porthos crouched down in front of him, a hand on his knee. "d'Artagnan will be okay. You'll see."

"I should have been more in control. I went too far."

"Athos, d'Artagnan knew the risks of the mission. And 'e will be okay. But you need to keep your cool, my friend. If we blow the mission now, d'Artagnan's risk taking will be for nothin'"

Athos held Porthos' earnest gaze for a moment before he let it slip, his head falling back to his hand. He sighed. "He's worth more …"

"Athos …"

Before Porthos could say anymore a quick knock on the door proceeded someone entering the room. Athos didn't need to look up to know who it was. Aramis always had a bad habit of just walking into rooms without waiting for an invite. It was a miracle that he now at least made the effort to knock at least.

Athos did look however, his need to hear news of the fourth member of their team taking precedence. He stood up and again nearly stumbled back to the bed had Porthos not caught him by his shirt and silently helped him to stand upright.

"d'Artagnan … is he?" his voice was quiet and gravelly and hesitant. He was afraid of the answer.

Aramis took off his hat and dropped it to the barrel Athos used as a bedside table before he closed the door behind him. He met both his and Porthos' gaze, his expression serious and for half a second Athos feared that his concerns had been warranted.

Aramis placed his hands on his hips. "He's fine. Well as fine as he can be considering the circumstances. The ball grazed his ribs. There was no serious damage."

Athos felt all the tension and stress that had filled his heart dissipate. His limbs suddenly felt weak and he was glad that Porthos had the mind to keep a tight grip on his arm. "He'll be okay?"

Aramis nodded, dragging a hand through the mass of dark curls on his head. His smile was genuine and relieved and Athos felt himself able to breathe a little easier. "He'll be fine. He hadn't yet awakened when I left the scene but I've seen my fair share of pistol wounds. He'll be sore, but he'll live."

"Thank god," Athos breathed. Porthos patted him on the back, the large hand gentle. Athos dragged his own hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. "Thank god."

"It was hard to just leave him there in the street," Aramis admitted, taking a seat on the edge of the small table in the corner of Athos' room. "It went against every instinct. I hope he can forgive me."

Porthos released his grip on Athos arm, allowing him to sink back to the thin mattress on his bed. "It was part of the plan, Aramis. Had you acted any differently it would have compromised the mission."

"And made his sacrifice for nothin'" Porthos added, looking pointedly at Athos. "If anything? It will make our story even more believable."

Athos met Porthos gaze, sceptically. "So you're saying this was a good thing?"

The room was quiet for a moment as they all digested this opinion. Aramis was the first to break the silence, standing and walking over to Porthos to clap him on the back. "Porthos, my friend, what would we do without your positivity?"

"You'd be bloody miserable."

Athos couldn't argue with that. The whole situation still didn't feel right and wouldn't until he could see his protégé for himself. But the overwhelming sense of dread and heartache had fled, thanks to a little help from his friends.

Athos sat back on his bed, allowing his head to rest against the hard wall behind him. He watched lazily as Aramis and Porthos helped themselves to his wine stash and talked amongst themselves, completely unaware of how grateful he was to them in that moment. And in every moment since he had met them.

They would get through this … together. All for one and one for all.\

End.

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 **A/N:** If you read ... I hope you enjoyed :)


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